Notes On A Summer
by Rainstorm Amaya Arianrhod
Summary: Amanda managed to get into quite a lot of trouble last year, what with dying her hair and trying to join the DA. Unfortunately, her mother found out, and now she's working in a Quidditch camp run by Weasleys what worse punishment for an Slytherin?...


**A/N:** My pitiful attempt at writing something funny. Could you possibly let me know if it works or not?

**Disclaimer:** JK Rowling created this world. Not moi.

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Dear Notebook,

Just to let you, dear reader, know what you foolishly set free when you managed to open this notebook: I'm Amanda, I'm keeping a notebook, not a diary, and I'm a reformed Slytherin. I'm still taking it one day at a time. I even joined a club for it- we call ourselves the DNDE. Definitely Not Death Eaters. Other people call us turkeys, from the amusing bilingual pun afforded by the French word for 'turkey'- 'dinde'.

Being a not-totally-reformed Slytherin, and furthermore one who is not very good at thinking ahead, I got into a lot of trouble recently, and my six-months' grounding was commuted to trying to help lead a Quidditch camp for pre-Hogwarts kids. It is torture of the highest degree, and it is all Maximilian's fault.

Admittedly, dearest Maxie thought it was a nice gesture, the sort of thing a brother who rarely sees his sister might do for her when she's been grounded for six months. Also, it was hardly his fault that I charmed my hair blue in Charms, liked it, and kept it past the end of term. He was nowhere nearby when I accidentally caused my friend Naira's brother to crash a car into a wall by opening my own booby-trapped sweetie-stash box. And although he wouldn't have stopped me trying to join Dumbledore's Army, that wasn't his fault either. I can't even attribute the final reason I'm willing to admit to- my foul language –to him.

But it is on his suggestion that six months' grounding has been commuted to a spell of hardship at this blasted Quidditch camp. Luckily for him, Maximilian is an actual, professional Quidditch player, so whenever he turns up to this camp he has people bowing and scraping. I, on the other hand, am his shorter, smarter, sister. Therefore, I get to be ordered around just like the other teachers at this hellhole, plus whenever he turns up (because he's tall and apparently good-looking and a professional Quidditch player) I get to be pestered for introductions, where he keeps his diary, preferred brand of underwear, etcetera. Just a note to all the Maximilian-fans: his nickname is not Max and, like me, he doesn't keep a diary. If he did, I would know where it was.

Before you, inquisitive reader, slam this delightful piece of prose shut and exclaim 'She can't even define 'diary'! I'm not reading anymore of this!' I should just like to make one thing clear. This is a _notebook_, and it's going to be slathered in concealment charms, mysterious-looking runes and booby-traps- just as soon as I can find my Charms and Ancient Runes textbooks, plus my copy of _1001 Spells For The Paranoid Teenager_. The notebook itself was Naira's idea; she said it might be a good idea to vent my fury and frustration, and while that may be true, she also really might kind of like to read it.

Yes, I did make her brother write off a car, even if it was by accident. Yes, I do rather suspect that this might have something to do with her suggestion. I do also begin to wonder if Naira has ever visited this camp, which she is not present at, because she displayed uncanny prescience in guessing that I would be furious and frustrated.

Personally, I think my qualifications for being part of this endeavour are dubious. I've never played for my House team or indeed any other team. This is because Slytherin girls do not get on to the team. It follows on from this that, while I can play a passable Beater, this is because of my brother's influence and he practically has to put me through a ten-second boot-camp every time he sees me so we can play at a reasonable level.

However, apart from Naira's suggestion, there is a reason for this notebook. It is so that, should I throw myself off a cliff in the near future- unlikely; we're on Salisbury Plain here, which is devoid of any cliffs whatsoever –it can be read out as evidence that in my last days I was not mentally disturbed, just being tortured out of my mind by circumstances.

For 'circumstances', read 'pack of juvenile whingers'.

Oh... _sugar_. One of the kids has fallen off. Had better go and do something with squalling child.

Good day.

-Amanda.

P.S. I do not normally say or write 'sugar' as a curseword, you understand, regarding this as the very _height_ of excessive prudishness, but as I can't write what I really want to write due to a Restriction Charm cast by my mother, I have no choice. It's not my fault you learn such bad language in Slytherin. I am a victim of social conditioning!


End file.
